


vanir

by thermocline



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Aromantic Character, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22752313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermocline/pseuds/thermocline
Summary: There are a lot of things you shouldn’t do, really. Follow your friend off the edge of a cliff. Commit tax fraud. Play a murderer on TV. Date your coworker.Simone has failed on one of those counts, loosely, so she feels like she’s justified to fail a second one with gusto.
Relationships: Simone de Rochefort/Jenna Stoeber
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	vanir

**Author's Note:**

> hello. if you know anyone mentioned in the tags please god step away and let me keep this between myself and the good holy lord jesus christ.
> 
> i wrote this for myself, but i really hope you like it. 
> 
> comments are screened in case you don't want your message to be public. <3

There are a lot of things you shouldn’t do, really. Follow your friend off the edge of a cliff. Commit tax fraud. Play a murderer on TV. Date your coworker.

Simone has failed on one of those counts, loosely, so she feels like she’s justified to fail a second one with gusto.

+

The first time that they fuck, it isn’t particularly notable, save for being in the streaming room, but Pat and Brian have blazed the path for them already. It isn’t special, really, except that Simone feels like she’s melting to nothingness under the touch of Jenna’s fingers, and she’s probably thinking in ten languages that she doesn’t know at once, and when Jenna pulls back and licks her fingers clean of Simone’s taste, she’s breathing hard, short hair tussled like she’s just finished a wrestling match. Her cheeks are pink. The office is dead quiet outside the locked door. She stares at Simone, and when they lock eyes, Simone doesn’t spare a breath before pushing Jenna to the couch. Simone lets Jenna guide her, fingers wrapped tight and mean in her hair, through how she likes to be eaten out until Simone’s jaw is aching and Jenna’s pushing her away with shaky hands.

“We need to fucking do that again,” Jenna says. It would be more sincere if she wasn’t staring at where Simone couldn’t catch the last of Jenna’s wetness on her cheek. “Holy shit.”

“I know,” Simone says, and helps Jenna slide her underwear back up before sitting back on her heels. “God, I can’t believe it only took me six weeks to fuck shit up so thoroughly.”

Jenna shrugs. The way she eyes Simone feels targeted, like a cat waiting for its humans to leave so that it can wreak havoc. Simone doesn’t usually let people size her up and take her over, but Jenna’s keen eye, her clear competence, makes Simone’s mouth go dry. “Consider me impressed,” Jenna says, swiping a thumb over Simone’s cheek before kissing her once more, quick and dirty.

She’s got _guts._

+

Generally, Simone hates stereotypes about queer women. The U-Haul myth is, in fact, a myth. Moving in with people sucks. Pooling finances sucks. Trying to integrate another person into your fully formed New York life after a month of dating is practically impossible.

In reality, other things about city life are more difficult to deal with –

(“I got offered the job I wanted in Chicago!” her roommate announces sunnily when Simone arrives back at their place on a lovely spring afternoon. An afternoon that Simone spent with Jenna, getting udon and talking about Animal Crossing rumors as Jenna traced the lines of her palm.

The whole thing is completely circumstantial, really, but it’s been several months since Jenna walked into her life, and finding a place in New York is a long series of roommate hellscapes. It just makes sense for Jenna to move in. Why not keep a good thing going?)

– and so, begrudgingly, Simone’s life becomes a sapphic trope.

The routine goes like this, once they get it going: Wake up. Leftovers for breakfast, or something easy, or a coffee run. They leave by 8:30, since being early to rise doesn’t always make a significant difference in their work schedule, and when they arrive, it’s time for the 9:30 stand-up in the main conference room.

As they get more comfortable, and Simone stops waking up on time with her alarm, they start deviating from the routine. Those are some of Simone’s favorite mornings.

+

“You up?” Jenna asks quietly. Her breath fans across Simone’s face. Technically, Simone did just stir into consciousness, but feigning the been-awake-for-a-little-while narrative feels fun.

“Mhm,” Simone answers. Her voice feels rough with sleep. “We’re gonna have the best time today,” she adds, pressing her forehead to Jenna’s sternum and squeezing her waist gently. 

Jenna hums in response, the sound vibrating against the top of Simone’s hair. “Yeah, we are.”

Simone sighs, because apparently a few months of home-sharing and really good sex will make you into a rom-com cliche who’s just unbearably soft for their partner. God.

To be fair, a lot of their mornings off start like this; curled around each other under Jenna’s old quilt no matter what the temperature is outside, sharing body heat for comfort. One of them wakes up with the first alarm, the other wakes up on instinct with them, someone mentions having to get out of bed, they don’t actually get out of bed for another five minutes, rinse, repeat. It’s all very Herculean of them, honestly.

A hand squishes between Jenna’s chest and Simone’s forehead to brush Simone’s hair off of her face. When she turns into it, seeking the touch, Jenna’s thumb lingers for just a second on the pink center of her cheek. Simone doesn’t miss her characteristic hitch of breath.

“How much time do we have?” Simone asks, soft, and Jenna shrugs against her ear. “If that even matters.”

(They both know it doesn’t.)

“Dunno,” Jenna says, and she’s already sliding her hands under Simone’s armpits to lift her just enough to push her on the bed, settling her on the pillows. Simone squirms. Jenna’s deceptively strong, and as they’ve both learned, she’s devastatingly into it.

Simone grabs Jenna by the collar of her shirt and pulls her down. She keeps the movement slow and measured. Jenna has no doubt of her intentions. Might as well take their time and savor it.

+

Speaking of things to savor –

For their first stop on the weekend staycation, they choose a little antiques shop about an hour out of the city. The bell on the door tinkles as they walk in. They’ll meet up with Legs and the others later. This, though – this is for them.

The shrewd older woman behind the counter looks up. Her eyes are piercing, short gray hair pale against her bright glasses. Not a bad way to grow old. “Hello!”

“Hi there,” Simone calls back. Jenna peels away slightly, taken by the small display of ceramic garden figures. Simone figures she’ll catch up later. “We need help decorating an apartment.”

“Oh!” the woman says brightly. “Well, you’ve come to the right place!”

Jenna turns, grinning at her. The woman’s eyes soften, understanding. She nods back. “Are you two eccentric types?”

“I’d say so,” Jenna muses. When the shopkeeper motions for them to follow, Jenna entangles her hand with Simone’s, pulling her along.

They wind through the shelves, some empty and pristine, some teeming with odds and ends. The woman, who’s introduced herself as Carolyn, keeps chattering away with Jenna, but all Simone can focus on is Jenna’s fingertips rubbing over her palm. Why wasn’t staying in bed enough of a staycation?

(No matter. If Jenna wants an adventure, she’ll get one. Simone will follow her anywhere.)

“Right here,” Carolyn says, gesturing to a small section filled with salt and pepper shakers shaped like animals and a menagerie of other strange kitchen accessories. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll let you two be!”

Jenna lets go of Simone’s hand gently, reaching for a cow-shaped butter dish. Ironic. “Thank you, Carolyn!”

With a nod, Carolyn retreats to the counter. Simone watches Jenna put the cow back, heft a huge box of painted enamel casserole pans from the shelf. Her arms flex as she maneuvers it down. Simone sighs. Jenna stares at her.

“What?”

“Hottie,” Simone mumbles; lets herself grin, just because. “C’mere.”

Jenna sets the box down, then drapes her arms around Simone’s neck, lets herself be pulled in. Nowadays, every kiss is comfortable, even if it’s a quick squish of their lips that ends far too soon. It’s for the best. Simone doesn’t want to raise questions with a store owner who looks suspiciously like a wise old NPC.

“You’re ridiculous,” Jenna says against Simone’s mouth, pecking her once more for good measure. Simone grins back, wolfish.

“You want to get a full set of farm animals for the kitchen? I think we can do it.”

“Fuck yeah.” Simone pauses to untangle the two of them. There’s a conveniently placed rooster teapot next to her elbow. “How about this?”

“I love that,” Jenna says, nodding seriously. She reaches over Simone’s shoulder to grab something else. “Do you want a dragon as part of the farm as well? Cause this potholder is too good to pass up.”

Simone just laughs. What a bunch of idiots, staring at each other like a wild west showdown with their animal-themed wares in hand. It’s wonderful. It’s really, honestly, the first time Simone’s had fun in a while.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jenna says, grins back, then gingerly places her treasures into a wire basket next to the shelf and slings it over her arm. The china clinks softly against the metal, and Jenna reaches down to scoop the animals away from each other. Her attention is so pointed, so gentle.

God, she’s so _cool. _

+

On Monday, Jenna bustles around the kitchen preparing a bread recipe while Simone takes care of dinner. Even chicken picatta feels fun and exciting when there’s little goat-shaped saltshakers involved. Simone sets the timer for the chicken and steps back from the oven to let Jenna put the sourdough in.

In their little corner, through the one window overlooking the street, the sunlight catches on the teal of the kitchen towels. The bronze-tinted glass tchotchkes and pastel-hued dishes that they’ve picked up seem to glow as the evening sets in. It’s a little magical, to have such a peaceful summer night, even in the midst of some office chaos that’s consuming both of their waking hours.

“Bread’ll be like an hour,” Jenna says as she dusts her hands off. “Is that everything?”

Simone makes a mental list. There’s chicken, bread, vegetables already done and under a lid on the stove. Ice cream in the freezer, waiting to be savored. “Yeah.”

Jenna nods, coming over to wrap her arms around Simone’s waist. She sinks against Simone’s chest, sighing warmly as she relaxes. Simone holds her fiercely. The two of them stay there, rocking back and forth, hips pressed close, as Jenna’s playlist continues on in the background. 

“I hope you know that I love you,” Jenna says quietly, and Simone can almost feel her lips moving in a whisper of sensation across the thin skin of her sternum. “And that spending time with you makes me really happy.”

“Babe,” Simone answers, choking around the word slightly. It feels comfortable, easy to have Jenna snuggled against her. Like taking a deep breath at the end of a long day. “I’m so grateful to have that time with you. You have no idea.”

“Good,” Jenna says, and Simone squeezes her tighter, tickling her sides until she’s laughing.

They tidy the kitchen while they wait for the food to finish cooking, exchanging stories about their ill-advised college escapades. Simone wants to know everything about Jenna; to get her advice on the things that matter most. She’s capable as hell, and even though the two of them think differently, the disagreements feel more like _learning _than just being passive aggressive assholes for the sake of it. For two uniquely high-maintenance people, what they’ve got is surprisingly relaxed.

The timer goes off when Jenna’s in the middle of an _unbelievable _story about going topless to a park in the middle of the night during the summer before senior year. She gets up to take the bread out without missing a beat, and Simone doubles over laughing when she gets to the part of the story where she threw a tantrum when her friends tried to get her off the ground. As they eat, Simone notices a lot of things, like the way Jenna’s hair looks brighter in the light. How much Jenna looks like her mom, as the months tick by, as much as she’d hate to ever admit it. How she squints when Simone tries to get off the hook for some reference that clearly can’t be explained away.

Simone’s never been good at not sounding like a robot when she gets sentimental. It’s fine, that she can’t always say it. That’s what her hands are for.

When they’re done cleaning up, Jenna slips on a pair of dish gloves and starts running the sink while Simone sweeps the floor and wipes the counter. Having chores become ritualistic, almost relaxing, has to be one of the weirdest parts of growing up. Simone finishes first, reaching over Jenna to rinse the sponge before placing it back on the counter ledge, drying her hands with a dish towel. When she pauses for a second, she catches Jenna singing along under her breath to the 80s rock that they have on Spotify shuffle.

Simone can’t resist; takes the impulse to reach out and smooth a hand down Jenna’s spine. Jenna shivers in response, giggling a little. “Hey there, ghost girl.”

“That’s me,” Simone responds, cracking a smile. The skin of Jenna’s lower back is soft under her fingers when she pushes at the hem of Jenna’s shirt. “You wanna get possessed?”

This time, Jenna’s laugh is bright and loud. “What a pick up line.” She rinses off the last plate, shaking it a little, and places it on the dish mat before shucking the gloves and turning to face Simone. Her arms are huge and her grip on Simone is just tight enough for Simone to breathe against the pressure, feel her ribcage drop and relax. “Not to disappoint,” she adds, kissing Simone’s temple, “but I’m not feeling super in the mood right now, so can we do an episode of Chopped instead?”

“Of course,” Simone answers, because she’ll always, always, always be down for a second of peaceful quiet in this busy, busy life she’s got going on.

+

The Troilus and Cresseida cast start holding weekly group workouts, which apparently includes Simone, for some arcane cast-stage manager bonding that Simone doesn’t quite accept as an excuse to get her ass kicked three times a week. The place where they meet up on the Lower East Side looks more like a gymnastics facility than Simone’s local big-box, machines-and-grunting gym. There’s mats everywhere, and a huge swath of springy floor, and a rack of dumbbells wider than the entryway in their apartment.

It’s fucking hard, to throw her weight around. Warriors don’t tend to have bird bones. But their stunt coordinator and their trainer start slow, adapting the difficulty of the exercises to the various fitness levels present among the group, and little by little, Simone adapts.

There’s something incredibly rewarding about watching feeling her body become more capable, even in the first two weeks. She can lift things, now; push back a little more if Jenna pins her wrists among her head. There’s a little swell of muscle forming on her quadriceps, firm when she digs her thumbs into the flesh there.

With four more weeks to go, Simone surrenders to the grueling routine of throwing punches and doing dozens of squats even after she’s tired from a nine-hour work day. Might as well lean into it.

Honestly, Shakespeare might finally be the thing that makes her _hot_.

+

When they start moving into the dregs of summer, the last wave of city humidity starting to dissipate, production deadlines get tighter and inspiration runs thin. Pat and Jenna have been working on this latest video for what feels like weeks now, grinding their gears with nothing _good _coming out in any iterations. The Premiere icon on Simone’s desktop feels a little like it’s laughing at her. Productivity be damned, she hasn’t even pitched anything recently, and it feels shitty to not be contributing.

Simone doesn’t have it all that bad, though. Pat and Brian and Jenna – they’re a whole different story.

It’s been four hours since Jenna last stood up from her desk, and Simone can see the hardened frustration on her face when she finally pushes back her chair and takes off her headphones. Jenna grunts as she hits the space bar harder than is strictly necessary, then sighs, shoulders shaking down. Even the bright yellow of her cardigan looks defeated. Simone sighs back, raising her eyebrows in a universal symbol for _I get it_.

“Sorry,” Jenna mumbles. Her hair’s getting longer now, the curls almost kissing the tops of her shoulders. Simone’s struck by the sudden urge to press her lips Jenna’s wrist by the hem of her sleeves, kiss Jenna’s nose, just fucking hold her. Autumn sucks.

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Simone says, and watches Jenna avoid her eyes, click back to something on her desktop. Her expression stays drawn. “You’ve been at it for a while.”

“Yeah,” Jenna answers, resigned, a little distant.

Simone tries to ESP over the feeling of her hands rubbing Jenna’s back. “You want to get Chipotle for dinner?”

Jenna smiles, just above imperceptible. “Yeah,” she murmurs, expression evening out. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Neat,” Simone smiles, popping her earbuds back in. She watches Jenna from a distance as she packs up her things. Tara stops by Jenna’s desk on her way out of the office, as Jenna starts powering down her laptop, and Simone’s relieved to see Jenna start talking, then stop and straighten up, gathering herself. The audio in Simone’s headphones drowns out their conversation, but Tara’s nodding, listening intently, before putting a hand on Jenna’s shoulder and uttering the word _rest_.

God, finally.

Simone knows better to assume. Jenna tends to be fairly good at advocating for herself, so it’s just – surprising, to see her in over her head like this. That’s usually Brian’s job. Jenna stretches, starting to stand up, and Simone averts her eyes.

A few moments later, there’s a hand on her shoulder, before it delicately removes one of Simone’s earbuds. “Hey,” Jenna murmurs. She looks less burdened already.

“Hi,” Simone echoes calmly, as if she doesn’t already have her bag ready to go under her desk. “You ready to head out?”

“More than,” Jenna answers. Her voice sounds hollow, like she’s given all she can and still has to do more. Give more. Simone knows the teeth-grinding ache of working as a public figure. Too well.

They take the subway back to Brooklyn, and Simone rattles off both of their usual orders before Jenna has time to protest. It’s not the greatest tex-mex cuisine they have available in the neighborhood, but they’re both old enough and broke enough that culinary expertise seems like an overrated goal. Shitty comfort food has a place in everyone’s heart.

Jenna sits cross-legged by the coffee table and starts on the food while Simone lights a few candles, throws open the windows to take advantage of the unseasonably cool evening before joining her. Jenna starts to perk up slowly as they eat. And after the compostable cardboard bowls are scraped clean, and the chips are decimated as if ransacked by a two-woman army, she stands to power on the speaker, choosing some indie pop that Simone knows how to sway to.

It’s tough, to feel like she’s doing enough to take care of Jenna. Maybe she’ll never be doing enough in comparison to Jenna’s apparently endless giving. Maybe it’s okay that she can’t be romantic, when she holds all different kinds of love in her heart, a spectrum of care and attention that encompasses all of her favorite people, in all possible ways.

Jenna beckons her up, pulls her close. Simone obliges her. They start up a slow step-touch, hands drifting to each other’s waists. The thin fabric of Jenna’s v-neck is smooth under Simone’s fingertips, and she smells like laundry detergent and Lush soap and the kind of sweat that only a New York summer can produce, and all that Simone wants to do is pull her even closer.

So, she does.

  
+

As summer ends, rehearsals start to amp up. In the time that Simone doesn’t spend at the office, or at the theater, or at the gym, she finds herself struggling to accept Jenna’s offerings of casseroles and laundry duties and increasingly athletic sex. She’s too tired to do much of anything, nowadays

When she starts shutting down from the stress, Jenna drags her into the bedroom and asks what Simone wants to do for Labor Day. It’s their first weekend truly off of work in a while, and Simone’s cast won’t have a Saturday rehearsal.

When Simone tells her it’s _fine, really,_ and starts unbuttoning Jenna’s shirt absentmindedly, Jenna pushes her to her back easily and repeats her question – well. More like demands it.

“I told you what I want to hear,” Jenna says, and Simone feels the shudder of her breath against her ribcage. Jenna grips her thighs, somewhere between affectionate and frustrated. She does this, sometimes, when Simone gets too strung out. It’s never felt condescending; but still surprising, to find herself at the point where she needs someone to push her around to get a halfway direct _I need…_ statement from her.

“Oh,” she gasps softly when Jenna settles between her legs, and Jenna raises her eyebrows. A check-in point. Simone nods, mouth falling open, and tries to settle into letting Jenna take the lead. It works, mostly, as Jenna gives her gentle pressure around her ribcage to cue her to start breathing more deeply, as she slows down the strokes of her fingers until Simone doesn’t feel any pressure to focus on anything else.

After building a little nest of blankets around themselves, and shimmying out of their clothes, Jenna gets back to the single-minded mission of getting Simone off. This time, she doesn’t let up, starts to tongue at Simone’s center with an intimate efficiency. How the fuck does Jenna always know exactly what she needs?

Even with the slow build-up, Simone’s close to orgasm in record time. It’s been about a week since they had time to do this, and she feels the relief like sand pouring out of her bones, like a drink of warm tea for a sore throat. She’s almost there, these frankly embarrassing noises spilling out of her, can feel it at the base of her skull when Jenna pulls back.

Simone almost screams. “Jenna.”

“There has to be something,” Jenna answers. “Once you figure it out, I’ll let you come.”

Simone thunks her head back against the pillows, feels Jenna’s hands soft on her thighs.

“We could go to the beach,” she manages, hands flying to Jenna’s hair when Jenna has the gall to just ever so lightly nip at her clit. “Fuck. What the fuck.”

Jenna pulls back, frowning. Her mouth and cheeks are shiny. It’s a good look on her. “You ok?”

“Yeah, for sure. I’m just mad that you found a way to make that feel good?” The catalogue of acts that Jenna has made Simone reconsider her stance on is extensive. Baffling, honestly, if she thinks too much about it. But given the way her thighs are sticky and Jenna’s wiping her mouth between jabs of conversation, she’s down to try another. “How did you–“

“I can’t reveal my secrets,” Jenna murmurs, kissing the inside of Simone’s thigh, up towards her cunt. Simone squirms. Jenna holds her thighs tighter against her shoulders, dips her tongue inside Simone for just a moment before leaving her open and aching again. Instead of giving Simone what she wants, Jenna giggles, making a dumb face against the curve of her stomach.

“You’re just kind of slutty when it comes to pain play,” she adds belatedly. A small, radiantly sharp bite to Simone’s inner thigh. Simone’s hips push up of their own accord. “Also, yeah, we should go to the beach. One second.”

Jenna pulls back, gesturing to the glass of water on the bedside table. When it comes to going down on Simone, she’s stubbornly superhuman most of the time. It’s nice to see her ask for what she needs this–

“Ow,” Simone whines as Jenna digs her elbows into the bruise on the crest of Simone’s hip on her way back down the bedspread. “Hold on–“

“Surprise,” Jenna grins, and uses her thumbs to massage another one of the marks that Simone’s gathered from the addition of swordfighting into the company’s fight practice in the past few days, then another, then _again_, these agonizing little crests of pain that have Simone writhing with how fucking deep and tender the pressure radiates. It feelslike Jenna’s reaching under her skin, holding her close enough to probe into all the soft spots she shouldn’t want to show.

Simone kicks her legs out, moaning in a way that she couldn’t quiet even if she tried. “Jenna.”

“I know,” Jenna soothes, then dips her head back down, humming as she kisses Simone’s belly. She keeps one hand gently over the bruise on Simone’s hip as she starts the call-and-response of pulling Simone apart with a knowledge better than whatever force had created her. Maybe this is the best Simone will ever fucking feel. She lets her body relax into the stimulation; tries her damndest to remember to thank Jenna after they’ve settled in for the evening.

For all the cast members and co-workers and friends that Simone’s used to leading, Jenna is her favorite to surrender to.

  
+

Around the corner, the apartment door closes. “Hi, babe,” Jenna coos, raising her voice to be heard over the music playing in the kitchen. The timer beeps on the stove. Simone dutifully reaches for the thermometer to check on the tray of chicken breasts. “How was work?"

Simone’s sure that her laugh echoes down the short hall from the entryway, because Jenna starts giggling too, even before she comes into Simone’s field of vision. The 50’s housewife shtick never gets old, for them.

“It was alright,” Jenna says, crossing through the living room. She gives an overdramatic sigh as she shrugs off her jacket, and Simone cackles at the glee of Jenna fucking committing to the bit. “Lots of restless energy at the office. I missed meeting you to take the subway, I felt so alone–“

Simone laughs and laughs, cutting Jenna off in her tracks by wrapping her up in her arms. It’s good, to be settled. To be home.

“Seriously!” Jenna says when they finally catch their breath. “It was weird, people kept staring at me.”

“I’m sure they weren’t,” Simone counters, thinking of Jenna’s blaring neo-rock music and her brightly colored hair, the way she always stands out among a crowd. There are a lot of reasons to stare at someone as cool as Jenna, and Simone’s lucky enough to have permission to look her fill. ”Besides, I’ll be back on the train with you tomorrow.”


End file.
